The Life and Times of Phoebus and Esmeralda
by disneyXprincess
Summary: Glimpses into the life of the lovely couple. A collection of one-shots in no particular order.
1. Awake

**Hello all! I'm in quite the Esmeralda/Phoebus mood again (: This story will be various episodes and events of their time together. I hope you enjoy! Let me know if I'm getting their personalities right.**

**Awake**

Phoebus produced a frustrated growl as he closed his eyes in hopelessness, having been unable to fall asleep at all since he tucked into bed. This damn cold, or the flu, or whatever the hell it was, had kept him awake the past two nights. His nose felt like it was packed with cement, and his fever had him layering blankets until you couldn't even tell there was a person underneath.

He'd been quarantined in the guest bedroom on Esmeralda's demand, having been admonished by their impending midwife that, being eight months with child, it'd be best to steer clear of any ill persons, even if she happened to live with one of those persons. She nurtured him anyway, insisting that out of the handful of other candidates obtainable to play the role of caretaker, she knew the best remedies and strategy. The many objections of her husband had no effect on her, instead inducing her preach to him on who he was dealing with, who he'd _married_, leaving Phoebus questioning himself why he even said anything in the first place.

With much effort, the man relocated to across the room to the side table next to a bulky armchair, where he'd primed a tin pitcher with water to soothe his intolerably sore throat when desired. Guzzling two consecutive glassfuls and successively rinsing his face at the washbasin, he contemplated how to pass the time—as long as he was up—until his wife awakened in some hours.

He could get some work done, but he'd vowed to Esmeralda he wouldn't so much as unfurl one piece of parchment until his illness had fully passed. He could read, but he wasn't in a state where he could focus as much as he'd prefer. He could bathe, but he didn't want to disturb his spouse with the noise he'd generate with the preparation.

For now, he selected meditating and reflecting as he observed the humdrum nightlife of his neighborhood through the lone, broad window the guest room comprised. One of his guards tautly crossed the cobblestone intersection on the far left, chimneys discharged smoky columns only to have them vanish promptly in the winter atmosphere, an unlatched gate swayed in the detestable January wind. The captain raised his blonde eyebrows at the fresh coat of snow acquired from an earlier tempest, sending a brief prayer of gratitude that he was house-ridden during its happening.

Beginning to shudder, having deserted the coverage of the heap of coverlets a significant time ago, he surveyed the room for his robe. Not identifying anything—although the lack of daylight partially to blame—provoked Phoebus to rummage around, blindly slapping at any furniture in his path and swearing through clenched teeth when his shin collided with something solid. It wasn't until he had almost finished reconnoitering the perimeter that he recalled previously discarding it in his usual bedroom.

Allowing himself one final snort with his congested nose before nearing the other, insentient denizen of the house, he exited his assigned quarters, soundlessly made his way down the hall, and entered his destination. Though able to retrieve the needed article without visibly disrupting his wife, he couldn't abstain from visiting her at their bed, where she lay positioned on her side, to deliver a tender kiss to her temple. He then departed as surreptitiously as he arrived.

The fatigued man donned the robe, thankful for the instant warmth it provided and reassumed his place at the window. The quiet of the approaching dawn continued for several minutes until discontinued by the thick wooden door of the guest room squeaking open.

Knowing who it was and though her presence never unwanted, Phoebus frowned as Esmeralda made her way to him, mutely presenting a steaming mug of presumably herbal tea. It was likely his fault she was up. _Damn. I wasn't as quiet as I thought, _he concluded.

He took the mug from her and set it on the adjacent side table after sampling it and discovering it wasn't ready for consumption.

His right arm encircled her shoulders to steer her to nestle into him, her inflated stomach pressing into his side, making him grin. His heart fluttered.

"You should be sleeping, ma chérie. You have a passenger that needs you to, even if you don't want to." He advised with his currently hoarse voice, lazily massaging her back.

Esmeralda grouchily replied, "Well, this 'passenger' makes it very difficult to find a decent sleeping position. Besides, I'm up every hour anyway-you know that. My organs are all being poked at and sat on and Heaven knows what else." The expectant mother cupped the bottom of her belly.

Her husband chuckled; it was always comical to see this rare grumbling from his wife. He ensured, "Not long now, Esme. It's almost time." He gently laid a hand on her middle as he dipped his head to kiss her hair.

They stayed for a short while watching the dawn break and the outskirts of Paris begin to come to life again, delighting in each other's heat; too somnolent to compel themselves to follow through with the "stay away from each other as much as you can" caveat. His fingers fondly rubbed where he received a movement from their future child.

Then, Phoebus remembered his throat and the generosity of his spouse to fix him the tea.

"Thank you for this," he clutched the cup and gulped down a third of it, "although, _I_ should be taking care of _you_."

"Nonsense, I'm fine. I'm no worse than I have been these past eight months. _You_, however, are a different story." Esmeralda corrected, sweeping his hair away to feel his forehead and cheeks with the back of her fingers. "Even in this light, I can see how miserable you are."

"Even in this light, I can see how utterly stunning you are." He countered.

She snorted, yet couldn't hold back a smile as she told him, "You are just unbelievable. Ill and sleep-deprived as you are, and you're still able to come up with stuff like that."

"I can come up with a thousand things to say about your beauty, my love, and still none would be fitting enough." Phoebus said sincerely, stroking her disorderly onyx hair, then pecking her cheek once, twice. She rested her head on his bicep.

Momentarily, the man finished his tea as his wife periodically yawned. One last look at her exhausted expression and he ushered her out and into the hallway, his hand on the small of her back as he ushered her back to their bedroom. Esmeralda peering up at him in query, he elucidated in an affectionate tone, "Try to get a little more sleep. I think I can manage a few more hours without you."

"There you go, giving orders. I'm not one of your soldiers, you know." She said pointedly, pausing to look him in the eye after taking a step into their room.

Phoebus put a finger up and reminded her, "But you _are_ my roommate, my wife, my life-long companion, and the carrier of my child." He prepared the covers for her and assisted her to sit, then recline and adjust. "And for the sake of the latter, I'm merely advising you to get the rest you need." He finished, disregarding the scowl she put on.

The man attempted to exit and reinhabit the guest room when a yank on his arm disallowed him. He rotated to see a smirking Esmeralda turning down the sheets on his side of the bed and indicating to it. Quizzical expressions were given by her husband until he obliged, concluding smugly that she just couldn't get enough of him; couldn't part with him.

Her arm reached and settled across his torso and he grasped her hand as he laughed lightly and asked, "I thought you had a restraining order of sorts to adhere to."

She picked up her head to raise an eyebrow at him, wondering—again—if he realized who he was talking to.

"When have I _ever_ gone by the rules?"

* * *

**Note: I don't know _too_ much about the do's and don'ts of pregnancies, but I figured in this time period, with their lack of medical knowledge (well, knowledge in general), expectant women would keep their distance from sick people, in fear of catching it and perhaps causing complications.**


	2. No (1)

**EDIT: As I've worked through some backstory/bios for these two, I've had to make just a handful minor edits to this story. Don't fret; you likely won't have noticed, if you've read this previously! The plot has not changed in the slightest. (:**

**No (1)**

A contented Esmeralda lounged on her back on soft grass under the shaded protection of a stout oak tree, one arm pillowing her head, the opposite hand clenched the neck of a brandy bottle Phoebus had brought along for them to share.

She was fully engrossed in him as he lay next to her, supported on his side by his left elbow with one knee up, fiddling with blades of grass as he talked.

Having both been incessantly active for most of prior week, Phoebus wanted to take her somewhere tranquil and secluded. Thankfully, he remembered a vast meadow right outside of town; the countryside linking Paris and Montlhery.

They were swapping histories and upbringings, to get better acquainted. Over the last handful of months, as their relationship evolved, conversations like this grew more common, both enthusiastic to delve more into each other and imbibe all they could.

"You mean to tell me that at just _thirteen_, you were taken from your family to fight in the _war_?!" Esmeralda aimed to confirm, distressingly.

Phoebus plainly authorized, "Mhmm. Would've been hung for treason if I refused."

"And you were away for twenty years?"

"Well...I rounded up a bit. It was actually eighteen." He hesitantly confirmed, now worried of what she was, surely, getting to: calculating his current age. Because, come to think of it, they'd never clarified their ages. Abruptly, Esmeralda's youthful beauty austerely occurred to him—perchance it was because she _was_ youthful? She looked like a woman—_hell yes_, she did—but how far into womanhood was she…or _wasn't_ she…?

After a beat, Esmeralda concluded, "Which makes you—"

"Thirty-one." he finished, fearing for what tone she'd say it in herself. He sat up and casted his gaze southward dolefully. He dared assume aloud: "That probably...changes things...doesn't it."

Not dissuaded by his age in the slightest, she responded with playful air, "Not at all. I like older men."

"Ol...older men?" He eyed her in alarm, suddenly feeling very inappropriate, the fiery warmth of guilt scuttling to cover every inch of his body.

Did he not understand the humour? "Phoebus, I was just joking!" She explicated hurriedly, laughing apprehensively.

Phoebus began to ask in a thin, timid voice, "How old ar-"

"Guess." She interrupted.

"Esmeralda, this isn't a good time for-"

"_Guess_."

"Alright, alright." He shifted uncomfortably, dreading what the absolute answer to this puzzle would be. "Probably ten years my junior, right?"

She frowned at him pointedly, though changed expressions when she identified his evident worry, realizing that he really _was_ uneasy about this.

Discarding her game with him, she calmly revealed the solution and echoed his earlier concern: "I'm twenty-six. That doesn't change anything, does it?" She queried his body language and face for, hopefully, a relieved reaction.

Phoebus palpably deflated, his hand flinging to his chest as if to calm his racing heart as chortles of delight bubbled out of him. Esmeralda smiled lovingly as he met her gaze, both pairs of eyes scintillating with fondness; grateful about this unspoken agreement that their relationship could ensue.

"No, no, it doesn't change anything, no." Phoebus asserted with a wide, doting grin, then eagerly accepting her lips when she leaned into him.

His hand reached to hold her hip and he scooted forward to erase the distance from her he had subconsciously created. "Not in a bad way, anyway." He tagged on, puckishness plaited through his tone.

After several minutes containing numerous fervent kisses, they parted. He propped himself upright against an adjacent tree and she moved to sit between his legs, reclining to join her back with his front, her head meeting his breast. He swathed her with his thick arms and bowed his head to kiss her uncovered shoulder and neck.

How the hell did he luck out like this?

In fact, he'd never felt so fortunate—ever. Nor so devoted. Perhaps it was because he'd never had the opportunity to be with a woman for longer than a couple hours (side effects of being a soldier). Well, it was more than pure limited opportunity. It was also the lack of want. He never longed to truly please a woman past carnal satisfaction. To cherish her, to delight her, to dedicate significant time and effort to her. In fact, the thought of marriage always stressed him greatly and nearly repulsed him. But that was probably because, he realized, he hadn't ever valued a woman past mild adoration. Certainly not enough to cogitate the remainder of their lives bound to each other.

Until now. With this woman. This outstanding, compassionate, intelligent, challengeable, spitfire of a woman. He didn't interpret her as flawless or angelic—in fact, sometimes quite the contrary. She could be hard-headed, impulsive, distasteful, curt.

But he had his faults, too. Everyone does.

She occupied the majority of his thoughts at all hours of the day. He wanted his free time to be indisputably spent in her presence. He appalled himself when Clopin once playfully referred to them as married and he didn't at all protest or even flinch. The idea of being a husband actually filled him with surprising pleasure and warmth. Being _her_ husband.

Every interaction they had, be it banter, sincere conversation, profound reflections, or affectionate exchanges, left him parting from her with remarkable reluctance, finding her enticingly phenomenal and superbly baffling in a way that he wouldn't mind spending decades exploring.

So, he took a chance.

"Marry me." He muttered into the skin under her jawline, then kissing where he spoke. He hoisted up his head, waiting for a reply or reaction.

She took a deep breath in through her nose and her eyes enlarged, then frenziedly flickered around everywhere in front of her before she fixed her position to look at Phoebus directly. With every action, he looked at her more and more fretfully. If their ages didn't make a difference, _this_ certainly would.

Esmeralda couldn't seem to assemble a response, unexpectedly finding lucid thoughts impossible, therefore mustering an answer to his statement becoming abnormally laborious. It was either yes or no; why such complexity?

Well, because "yes" wasn't what she wanted. But she didn't mean "no", either.

Meanwhile, her muteness was dispiriting Phoebus by the second.

"Ah. I see I made a bad choice." He said quietly, releasing his hold on her. He ran a hand through his hair and glanced away in disgrace, feeling quite stupid and remorseful now.

Her hands flew to clutch his shoulders in encouragement as she quickly consoled him, "No! No, you didn't. I just…I…I don't know, Phoebus."

She struggled for a long moment to find precise words to communicate what she meant.

"I _do_ know that you're _wonderful_. And I hope I mean as much to you as you do to me." She began, fixing his head to look at her and giving him a brief smile. "I just don't know about…marriage. It's not like I had many examples growing up, or many men before you. I've never been with someone whom I feel…this much for. And it's quite..." she delayed, to settle on the just term for it: "...unfamiliar."

He understood her doubtlessly about that, though still disheartened at her overall implication. "So, you're saying no?"

Her heart felt heavy as she confirmed, "I am. I'm sorry. It's just not for me, not right now. I truly am sorry, Phoebus." Then, wanting to lift some of the strain, she continued with a light-hearted jolt to his shoulder, "Will we keep seeing each other, or do you not like me anymore?"

"Yes! My God, of _course_." He said a little too readily, then recovered by saying in an egotistical, dramatic voice, "Just because you reject a proposal from my dashing, desirable self doesn't mean you can reject me altogether!" He took on boastful, prideful body language, raising his chin and flexing his bicep with a broad smile. She rolled her eyes and sucked her teeth at him, then told him flatly, "You aren't _that_ desirable, monsieur 'sun god'."

"Oh? I'm not? I seem to recall some times you acted otherwise…" He dipped his head and looked at her impishly.

An unpreventable blush stained her bronze cheeks as she pressed her lips together, forming an embarrassed half-smile, causing Phoebus to laugh heartily and kiss her cheek.

They rose to their feet, seeming to both decide to bring their outing to an end. Phoebus whistled for Achilles, who was a great distance away, munching on grass. They strode unhurriedly to meet the horse halfway, each with an arm around the other.

Esmeralda smoothed her hair to hook behind her ear, then interrupted the silence with, "But, you know something?"

"What is it, mon amour?"

"If, perhaps, I become sure about marriage, I'd want to be married to you."

Phoebus beamed, then tugged her to him to give her a peck.

That was enough for him.


	3. Three

**Hello, again! Here's another installment (: I quite like this one! It came so naturally, so different from the others. And took significantly less time, too. Thank you for all the kind words so far, and hope you enjoy!**

**Three**

"Good luck, my dear. And congratulations." Giovanna, a popular midwife among the gypsies, chimed as her client adjusted her clothing and stood up to leave.

Esmeralda had suspected it for days, now, but only just today, on this one late afternoon, decided to visit Giovanna for confirmation (or disproval). But, yes, now it was official. She _was_ pregnant.

She sluggishly and silently shuffled to depart, seemingly hundreds of such perplexing emotions bubbling up that she didn't know which one to act upon. But before she passed through the threshold, the elder woman behind her called for her to halt.

"And, some advice before you go?" Giovanna started as she dabbed her weathered, brown hands dry with a cloth. She directed, a smile gradually broadening as she said: "Tell Phoebus soon. You'll be showing before you know it."

Esmeralda cast a brief, confounded glance at her own middle, her own body suddenly feeling alien to her. She nodded mutely at Giovanna, heaved a big sigh, and exited the premises. Fortunately, she'd taken the entire day off from work.

So many thoughts were buzzing about in her head; so many what ifs, doubts, wonderings, worries. They were all whirring in front of her in blurs as if on a high-speed conveyor belt. A baby, a child of her very own was on its way? What kind of mother would she be? Did they have enough money? Would she want to raise the child in Paris, in _France_, even? Did she want a boy or a girl, or did she even care? Who would be the godparents? What would pregnancy…what would _birth_ be like? What if something went, dare she think it, wrong?

There were also a bunch of Phoebus-related thoughts.

How will they raise the child? What will this mean for their marriage? Though, the most protuberant question of all was: Did Phoebus even want children at all? They few times they'd discussed it, the conversation always concluded open-ended and uncertain. It was mostly vague opinions on the topic, and failed struggles to express their thoughts to one another. There was never a declaration, never an absolute "yes" or "no". The only thing they could gather was: they wanted to wait. Wait a few years. Wait until they had been married some time.

Well, hopefully four years was enough. It's not like they had a choice now, anyway.

But, regardless of all those, the first one to address was: how to tell him. She didn't want a big, grand gesture; they weren't those kinds of people. _Should I let it slip out casually? Or should I come right out and say it boldly? _She debated. The first option was most likely what she'd go with in the end. Maybe she'd just talk to him normally tonight, and slide it into the conversation nonchalantly.

Yeah. That sounded good.

The newly-expectant mother approached the center of town; Giovanna's abode had been on the outskirts. Dusk was approaching; Phoebus was to be getting off of work now. She hoped to find him around here, somewhere.

Arms crossed and travelling at an unhurried pace, she strolled past the buildings, leaning to look left and right down streets and shortcuts. With her torso twisted to the left to look down one avenue of a four-way crossing, a hand closed around her elbow. She needn't be startled or afraid; she knew exactly who it was.

"Looking for me?" Phoebus asked with a grin. He was clad in a nondescript, unbelted tunic and breeches; what he wore under his armor.

In an effective attempt to mask all that was on her mind, Esmeralda retorted with, "No, actually. I was looking for one of my _other_ husbands. It's hard to keep track of all nine of you."

"You mean there's eight other men who can sympathize with me? Hmm. Maybe we can create a support group of some kind." (This earned an insulted scoff from his wife.)

He then stepped forward to greet his wife with a kiss. Esmeralda was, of course, pensive and didn't quite get involved in it, and Phoebus noticed, but didn't comment.

Small talk between the couple ensued as they sauntered to the end of the road, until they reached a café on the corner they frequented. Phoebus roped Achilles onto a neighboring post then turned to his awaiting spouse, curving an arm around her back and gesturing to the entrance.

Esmeralda was thinking, _Well, this looks like where it'll happen. This is where and when I'll tell him. _So she proposed a table distant from the other patrons; practically in a corner. Privacy, quiet, and seclusion: perfect.

As she served herself a cup of water with their table's preset tin pitcher, Phoebus spoke.

"You know, I've been thinking: I don't think we've ever been away. Together. Outside of France. I mean, _I've_ gone away for work, as you know. But _you've_ been stuck here." He explained. It was evident he'd been pondering this for a while. "We could use a vacation, don't you think, mon amour?" He enquired with a wink at his wife.

_Vacation? What about the bab—wait a second… _The gypsy thought. _Now; just do it! _She took what she hoped wasn't a long pause to plot a stealthy way to reveal her news.

"Mmm. Vacation sounds good." she eventually concurred. "But if we're going to go, we'd better go soon, while it's still just the _two_ of us…"

"Soon is what I had in mind, yes." Phoebus said immediately after. But before continuing, her curious wording replayed in his mind. After a beat, he fumbled aloud, "Although…_wait_…why did you…what did you…what are you getting at, exactly?"

Esmeralda didn't reply; rather, she just let him work through it himself. When he finally met her gaze, she offered him a smile that didn't meet her eyes, but [she pleaded] could have passed off as a happy one.

For Phoebus, that grin eliminated many of the suggested implications he had conjured and left only one. Guiltily, he realized, he couldn't decide if it was his favorite one or not. But first: to affirm if it was true.

Before he queried, his eyes flitted up and down a few times from his wife's face to her stomach. If it _was_ true, was it obvious yet? Had he missed it…?

"You're…you're…?" He left it at that, purposefully not finishing the sentence and simply opting to raise his eyebrows at her. (Hell, he was still scrambling to get his head wrapped around the idea in the first place.)

She nodded.

At which, Phoebus hummed an undemonstrative "Huh.", rubbing the back of his neck and readjusting his position in his seat.

With the time passing and the inability to read an opinion off of him, Esmeralda's trepidation abruptly returned. Not wanting to beat around the bush, she questioned quietly, "Do you…do you want it? If-"

"_Yes_!" he cut her off, his eyes wide and his hand flying to clutch her arm across the table for emphasis. "Absolutely! I would never…! Why would you…?!" Upon spotting that, with that answer, she looked only slightly better, he went on to elaborate steadily: "If you're asking because I don't seem…too keen, I'm sorry. I _am_, I promise. It's just unexpected, that's all. But, hey, _you_ were unexpected, too. I didn't think I even wanted to get married. But when I met you, I warmed up to the idea." He smirked at his wife.

"And I'm glad you did." Esmeralda mirrored the smirk. Though, she soon turned pensive again. Phoebus' approval was only one worry checked off of her list. There were still hundreds more. She supposed stressing like this was certainly common and predictable, but couldn't help voicing her concern.

"Do you think we can do it?" She asked in a small voice, her head bowed.

"_Hey_." He said deliberately, but tenderly. He opened his hands for her to place her own in, for him to clasp. He didn't resume until her jade eyes regarded him. "We'll figure it out. I think we're pretty good at improvisation." They shared a light laugh, succeeded by a quick, but affectionate kiss.

Momentarily, servant brought the burgundy Phoebus ordered [sometime shortly after they arrived, though _when_ exactly, the hell if he recollected…] and plopped it on the table along with a pair of glasses. The captain popped the cork, poured himself a serving, then went to follow suit with his wife's glass until she prevented him at the last second, lidding it with her hand and sliding it away from him.

Her husband looked at her bewilderingly before he perused the liquor's label and remembered, "Ahh, right. It's because it's 1490, right? Not your ideal year."

"No. Well, yes, because of that. And—"

"Because of _that_." He tilted his head in indication to her abdomen.

She snorted and shook her head in exasperation before defensively correcting him, "It's not a 'that'! It's a person! It's a baby. _Ours_."

"Oh, so it _is_ mine?"

"Phoebus!" She cried, hastily perusing the room for any spectators before gaping at him.

"Well, how am I supposed to know with you?" He was joshing but able to keep a completely serious expression and _loving it_. "With those eight other husbands you've got, that makes the chance _I_ knocked you up…eleven percent? Pretty slim." He eyed her as he took a gulp of his drink.

The subject of his poking fun crossed her arms and sat back in her chair, rotating to face away from her "bully". It wasn't until he gently prodded her foot with his under the table that she succumbed and let herself grin.

Phoebus jerked his head back to down the rest of his burgundy, then fished the appropriate coins out of his pants pocket to pay for it. He scooted his chair backwards to stand up and readied his arm for Esmeralda to take hold of. "Shall we head home, ma belle?"

She copied his actions, grasped his arm gently, and together they left the café. Paris had begun preparations to go to sleep, Notre Dame's bells acting as a lullaby all the while: shopkeepers were locking up, a couple of Phoebus' guards were lighting the streetlamps with their torches, weary workers were trudging to their homes after a laborious day, an elder gypsy man was crooning drowsily with a lute in an alleyway.

Since Phoebus didn't like to ride Achilles in the streets while off duty, the horse dutifully treaded alongside him as the trio travelled mutely to their house.

Although, the blonde captain soon ended the silence. He murmured, "Think it'll look like me?"

"I hope so." Esmeralda looked up at her husband, her eyes glistening with warmth.

"Even if it's a girl?"

She snickered. "She'd have a perfect little beard, just like her father." She reached up and playfully yanked on the facial hair in point. Phoebus chuckled earnestly.

Then, he added one last thing before resuming the quiet, uttering it in her ear before kissing her temple fondly:

"I'd much prefer it to look like _you_."

* * *

**What other "episodes" would you like to see next? Feel free to offer suggestions or prompts or whatnot. I must warn you: I may not fulfill them! Just, if I need inspiration, and I like an idea I see, I'll write it. But there is no guarantee. **

**Anyway, thank you to the user (sorry for forgetting who exactly!) who said they'd love to see Esmeralda telling Phoebus play out. I was planning on writing it, anyway, but for some reason I got particularly motivated upon reading your comment! (:**


	4. Aftermath

**Hi there! I'm excited to share this one! I have two more ideas brewing, so be on the lookout for those as well! xx**

**Aftermath**

They observed, contented and proud, as the multitude's whistles and hollers faded as it toured through the village, Quasimodo hoisted nobly on top all the while.

They had won. Phoebus and Esmeralda were now victors.

The fates had been on their side, and took care of what had been their paramount issue for the past month or so: Frollo. Though, they were ones to grumble—their poor friend Quasimodo had dealt with this man his whole life! The luckless boy! Quasi had been his hostage, his puppet, his prey, his victim since he was born! There would be months—more likely _years_—ahead of renovating the emotional injuries done unto the beloved bell-ringer. But they were more than willing to do it. Quasimodo was a thoughtful, enchanting, kind spirit, and although Paris was now conscious of it, the man needed to see it himself. It was far beyond the right time.

Having taken a seat on Notre Dame's front steps some time ago, they sat in easy silence, Phoebus with his arms draped over his bent knees and Esmeralda with her legs straight out in front of her, idly stroking Djali as he laid in her lap.

A hushed sort of peace blanketed the air around them. After a day of fearing for lives, brushes with death, fire, a battle, destruction, and a certain judge's grisly—but not necessarily devastating—end, finally, the only noise to be heard was the waning cheers of the crowd that just left. They were probably a good length into the city by now. They could go on as long as they wanted, however: a day like this one surely could use some prolonged positivity.

But, for the pair remaining on the steps of the war-torn cathedral, an unexpressed elephant of "what do we do now" dangled overhead, and Esmeralda was the first to address it.

She sighed, then quietly said, "I suppose I…should go home now. Tend to these," She took fistfuls of the threadbare dress she was still wearing and slid it up to reveal her calves, bearing a few gruesome burns, "and wash up." She finished, also taking note of the many dark blotches of filth on her forearms.

Phoebus' brown eyes enlarged at her wounds and every nerve in him constricted as he remembered Frollo. What that blasphemous miscreant did to her. _And_ made him watch.

_Damned villain. Can't even find it in me to feel sorry for his demise. _The former captain thought bitterly.

Phoebus, though livid, as steadily as he could, replied, "To Hell with him. I hope he's in thrice as much agony as what he made your people suffer. Not to mention all he did to _you_. The bastard sent us all over the city searching for you, knocking on doo—"

"_Phoebus_." Esmeralda interjected loudly, but not callously. "I know. I know about it all. But we don't have to deal with him anymore." She idly stroked the length of Djali's back, bending over to try to catch Phoebus' gaze as he fixated on the ground in front of him. She set the goat aside and grasped the blonde man's arm. When he finally regarded her, she offered a small grin. "We're _free_." She told him.

After a long pause, he nodded and concurred, returning the grin, "You're right. We're free." He shoved his bangs out of his face, only for them to fall into place again. "It's just gonna take some getting used to."

He rose to his feet and aided Esmeralda to follow. "I'll escort you home, mademoiselle. You've had a long day. To say the least." He provided his arm for her, and she took it.

Paris and all below it was hued carnation pink and marigold as the sun lowered itself in the sky to prepare to sleep. Some charitable citizens began cleaning up what they could of the battle, sweeping ashes and carting away lumber. The gypsy woman and the soldier had plenty to deliberate—their relationship status, primarily—but neither had the valor to begin. So, they promenaded in silence.

As the two rounded a corner, unhurried strumming greeted them. Relaxingly, a trio of gypsies was playing a calm tune, wanting to bring a peaceful end to the hectic, momentous evening. A handful of couples were languidly dancing along, seeming to just bask in their lover's company after such a day of terror. Phoebus almost continued past the triad without a second thought when the hand grasping his elbow slid down his arm to seize his hand. Without waiting for objection from the man, Esmeralda hauled him towards the shuffling twosomes.

"Shall we, capitaine?" she inquired, a refreshingly hopeful look on her features.

_I'm in for a _lot_ of agreeing with eyes like those._ Phoebus thought.

Realizing he had never held the woman in such a way, Phoebus was tentative to place his hand on her waist; where it was to go. Something in him had the conscience to not do something so forward, as it might drive her away. (Though knowing Esmeralda for mere weeks, he found himself being cautious and mindful of her in a way he'd never been towards a female before.) Instead, he opted to settle it on the middle of her back, as hers found its way to his shoulder.

"It's been a long while since I've danced." He muttered, watching their entwined hands as she adjusted her grip. "Apologies if I'm not to your standards, La Esmeralda."

Esmeralda eyed him, the corners of her mouth just barely curving upwards.

His current scent of dust and cinders amplified as she inched herself towards him more. He still wore the shirt from the day before; the slit in the front from the arrow still there, and wider than before.

Esmeralda thought on the whole episode, upon spying the tear—rescuing him from the Seine, stitching his chest, him taking hold of her hand, the kiss…

Oh boy. That _kiss_. It was one _hell_ of a kiss.

She'd wanted to kiss him again when he came to The Court of Miracles, but it wasn't the suitable time or place. Not in front of virtually everyone she knew, and surely not in such a moment of pandemonium. He was quite a satisfactory kisser, she could confess. Now that things had simmered, the compulsion to repeat the act recommenced, powerfully. But, she repelled it; she couldn't discern where they stood.

But hey, now was a good a time as any to bring it up. She took a breath to speak, when:

"So, what about us?" Phoebus asked her. "What would you say we're becoming? An…item?" He raised an eyebrow and looked down at her with his eyes; without dipping his head.

Esmeralda was surprised, yet thankful that this had at last initiated. She surmised, "I was thinking more along the lines of…a courting couple, perhaps."

The captain deduced in a playful tone, "A couple, hmm? I just thought we liked each other."

"We do. A lot, I presumed." Esmeralda's hand slithered from his shoulder to the nape of his neck.

"Getting ahead of ourselves, aren't we? After all, we hardly know each other." Phoebus jestingly reasoned.

"Well, some things you just…you just _know_. You feel them strongly, and you feel how right they are." The gypsy elucidated, meeting his eyes.

Phoebus took an extensive yet subtle look at her, at them—her bronze skin, her dark hair, her nimble dancer feet fronting his bulky boots, the alternating colors of their interwoven fingers—before despondently commenting, "Who'd have ever thought a soldier and a gypsy, together, could be considered 'right', huh?"

Esmeralda fervently insisted, "That's just it. We can change things. We can change people's minds. By being our different selves. And proving how it doesn't matter."

Phoebus absorbed her words for a lengthy moment, a smile blossoming on his features. He confidently but tenderly disconnected his hand from hers and relocated it on the side of her face, his fingers nudging past her ear and into her hair. His gaze fell to her lips.

Identifying his intention, Esmeralda's stomach did jubilant somersaults, her own hands moving to clutch his sides. Their lips met alas, the pair emanating relief and elation at finally being able to be in public, to be together, to kiss again, to not worry about guards or being fugitives. The two seemed to release all of this into the kiss, their lips moving fervently, however, both were wary to not get overzealous too soon. (They each realized that this was merely their second exchange _and_ they had just _moments_ ago established themselves as a pairing.)

After some time, Phoebus released Esmeralda's mouth to smirk puckishly and remark,

"Damn right it doesn't matter."

* * *

**If you choose to review, please let me know if I'm getting their personalities right. That's always my primary concern! Reading back on my first story, "A New Arrival", it's glaringly obvious to me that I was afraid to write dialogue, because I was petrified to attempt it with these interesting, yet difficult characters.**

**Anyway, thank you very much to the wonderful reviewer (an anonymous guest, sorry I can't be specific!) who suggested a post-movie's end story! (: xx**


	5. Baby (part 1)

**Note: As some of you possibly know, I had another (separate) story titled "A New Arrival", about the birth of Phoebus and Esmeralda's first baby. Well, looking back on it, it was so cringe-worthy that I did some major editing to it, AND decided to just make it apart of this series. (I will delete the original in 24 hours.)**

**This might be new to some of you, though, so enjoy nonetheless! Xx**

**Baby (part 1)**

Phoebus dragged a wooden chair across the room and set it next to the bed, where Esmeralda was sitting up in distress, having gone into labor about an hour earlier. He had gone to their neighbor's house to order someone to procure the midwife from The Court of Miracles so he could stay with Esmeralda.

Phoebus opened his arms as an offer for comfort, which she appreciatively accepted. He relocated himself to sit next to his wife, lifting a leg to stretch it out on the mattress, letting the other one dangle off the side. She leaned into him as he put an arm around her and caressed her hair calmingly.

"Nervous?" Esmeralda probed. She reached for his hand and clasped it.

Phoebus sighed, confessing, "Well, I have the right. I've never done this before."

She retorted, mildly vexed, "Can't say I've done this, either." She indicated to the current condition of her body.

She knew this was just the beginning of her suffering and was apprehensive of the hell she'd endure in the very near future. She tried to remind herself that it would all be worth it, that she'd have a newborn in her arms soon enough, and she'd be able to embrace Phoebus properly again. But the straining sensation in her stomach was making it very hard to focus on the positives.

Regardless, she lifted her head to smile at her husband reassuringly. While she awaited another contraction, Esmeralda used the opportunity to speak: "Go visit Quasi. Or Clopin. You can entertain each other." she suggested. "I'll get through it. Don't worry."

After receiving a kiss right under his ear from the bronze-skinned gypsy and sequentially seeing her grimace with the endurance of another contraction, he said, "I really hope Giovanna gets here soo—"

Phoebus' sentence was cut short by a knock on the bedroom door. The couple looked up simultaneously.

A middle-aged woman with tan skin poked her head into the room. She was clearly a gypsy; bare-footed and clad in bright colours. She smiled sympathetically when her gaze landed on Esmeralda, obviously masking her discomfort.

"Hi there! I hope you don't mind me inviting myself in. The front door was cracked. I figured you'd be up here. Your neighbor boy told me it was urgent." She reported, plopping her antediluvian carpenter bag on the floor.

"We won't hold a grudge against you _too_ long." Phoebus responded, faking bother.

Giovanna "You'd better get going. She'll be in good hands, my boy. Nothing to worry about." Giovanna replied, grinning warmly.

A frown grew on his face as he slowly slid himself off the bed and Esmeralda sank backwards onto the headboard. Her hand remained linked to Phoebus', and she yanked him back to herself, smiling mischievously.

"You think you can get out of here without a kiss?" She remarked. Phoebus returned her smirk and leaned in until he was millimeters from her lips, replying in a low voice, "You make it pretty damn hard."

And then he captured her mouth with his, until Esmeralda shoved him away. "Get out of here. I've got a baby to deliver." She teased.

Her husband gave her one last peck before being taken by the shoulders and scooted out of the room by Giovanna. "Out, out, OUT!" The midwife raved. Just before stepping out of his bedroom, Phoebus turned to face Giovanna and caught her hand with his. She looked up; their similar brown eyes making contact briefly.

Phoebus hesitated, dipping his head almost sheepishly before whispering, "You'll…you'll see to it that everything…goes well?"

Giovanna was surprised by his desperate plea, but smiled warmly and patted the hand that held hers. "Everything will be fine. Take my word for it." She said gently. Phoebus murmured a 'thank you' before turning away and leaving, and the bedroom door thudded shut.


	6. Baby (part 2)

Phoebus lumbered away from his and Esmeralda's bedroom, until he found himself stepping from the stairs into the foyer, grabbing his cloak to head into town.

The captain shuddered as the frigid February air swirled around him and stung his cheeks, prompting him to draw his cloak tighter around his shoulders. With his chin pressed against his chest and his feet scuffling through the thin sheet of snow on the ground, Phoebus made his way to the tavern he favored, where Esmeralda was coincidentally employed. He had a pattern of going for a drink when he was stressed or upset, he could acknowledge shamefacedly.

As he pushed open the building's heavy oak door, he was immediately greeted by the bittersweet aroma of rum, and the warmth that the many candles and fireplaces provided. He offered friendly nods to those who held their mugs up in acknowledgement to his entrance. Phoebus trudged across the establishment and lazily plopped himself on a bar stool; his mind was beleaguered with a plethora of thoughts, causing him to not care much about his surroundings. He crossed his thick arms and leaned his elbows on the table as the bartender approached him.

"What'll it be, Cap'n?" the man asked brightly, his hands busy drying a glass with a cloth.

Phoebus reached for a wafer in the bowl to his left and replied, "I'm not having much. Just make it a wine. Esmeralda's in labor right now and I want to be sure I'm not seeing triplets when I hold my kid for the first time." He resisted the inclination to knock on wood. _Dear __**God**__, let it not be triplets… _he prayed desperately.

The bartender slid Phoebus' request across the counter. "Congratulations, Pops!" he remarked teasingly. "And give my best to Es. You've got a great girl there, Phoebus." the man said warmly, winking at the captain. The soon-to-be father beamed proudly and returned the wink. "You're the best, Don." he called after him as he walked away to tend to another customer.

Phoebus spent the next multiple hours killing time: at the tavern, checking in on his soldiers who were going to be without their Captain for a week or so, wandering the shops, and visiting Quasimodo. Being out of the house had calmed his nerves slightly. He thought of how he was actually glad to not be present during the labor, as he found himself unsure of how he'd handle it. He snickered quietly to himself, visualizing how she would have very likely been uttering obscenities aimed at him, were he with her.

Meanwhile, back at his house, his wife's physical strength was diminishing by the minute. She had been pushing so much and with so much determination, she could have probably moved a boulder uphill. Giovanna was a kind woman, who gently ordered her to push when needed, and offered her words of encouragement along the way.

Esmeralda clenched her fists until her fingernails dug into her palms. Wisps of her raven mane bordered her face due to her constant sweating, but the desperate mother-to-be pushed them away with the back of her forearm and continued following Giovanna's directions. She _had_ to get this baby out.

In between her heaving breaths, she asked "How many more…until…I'm done?"

Giovanna beamed and caught Esmeralda's eyes from her location at the foot of the bed. "Looks like only one more and you'll have your baby!" the woman exclaimed.

And she was right. One more push was all that was needed until the child entered the world. Esmeralda felt the obvious emptiness in her midsection as she deflated against the headboard.

Esmeralda couldn't prevent a tired smile from coming onto her sweaty face. After a few moments, her body temperature cooled down, and her breathing resumed a normal rhythm. Giovanna performed all the necessary cleaning as the newborn wailed with life. But before giving the babe to her patient, the middle-aged woman assisted the new mother into a fresh nightgown and gave her some water to drink.

Then, she lifted the infant carefully from the cradle where she had set it and presented it to an anxious Esmeralda. The new mother beamed and cradled the bundle to her chest. Happy tears blurred her vision for a split second before she blinked them away. "Is it a boy or a girl?" she asked Giovanna, after forgetting to for a moment.

The midwife grinned warmly. "A perfectly healthy baby _girl_."

"A girl…" A deep voice said in astonishment from across the room. Esmeralda's head sprung up to see her husband leaning against the door frame, smiling from ear to ear.

"You know, you look absolutely radiant with a baby in your arms." He commented, sauntering over to sit next to her on the bed.

His wife grinned, her eyes sparkling as she ironed her free hand over her stomach and replied, "Radiant, hmm? I think I look much _flatter_ with a baby in my arms. Seeing as she's on the outside, now."

Giovanna silently slid out of the room, wanting to give the couple some privacy.

The new parents shared a kiss they both smiled into. When they parted, they looked at each other dotingly; no words were necessary. "Let's see her." Phoebus urged, tugging Esmeralda's arm to bring their child closer. He reached out his hand to pull the blanket away from his daughter's face-and his breath was stolen.

It was hardly noticeable due to the typical pink colour newborns have, but the baby's skin was a difficultly-discernable mocha. An onyx cloud of hair adorned her little head, and already-thick eyelashes bordered her eyes. Esmeralda turned her head to glance at her husband in his enchantment, then gave him a kiss on his cheek before returning to gazing at the beautiful new addition to their lives.

A tiny hand struggled its way through the bundles of blankets and groped at air, until Phoebus satisfied it by allowing it to capture his pinky finger.

"We know how to make a damn good-looking kid, don't we, Es?" Phoebus murmured.

She snorted, and said nothing in reply, because, well…it was true.

The new father guffawed at her response; which showed she agreed, but didn't want to admit it aloud. He lathered a wet kiss onto his wife's cheek, shoving her face aside with his while doing so, until she pushed him back into place and reminded him of the infant on her person.

"Ah, that's right! This tiny creature that shall wake us throughout the night with its terrifying howls!" he dramatically stated, using elaborate hand gestures and an unintentionally loud voice. This caused his new daughter to cough out a cry of disturbance and stretch her arms out in aggravation. Esmeralda was too exhausted to get upset with him, and instead offered him the child.

Phoebus feigned exasperation and said, "Alright, alright, let me see the kid. She's probably sick of you, anyways." Esmeralda scoffed and efficiently transferred the bundle from her thin, tan arms to her husband's bulky, muscular ones.

Once the baby was securely set in one of his forearms and settled against him, Phoebus reclined against the headboard and used his unoccupied hand to clutch Esmeralda's. A minute or two went by before the infant's cries simmered down to tolerable sniffles. She was already a daddy's girl.

The captain ogled his daughter with a broad smile and could've sworn he felt his heart triple in size. "What'd we decide on, for a girl? Aurélie, right?" he asked his wife, finding himself unable to take his eyes away from the sight before him.

Esmeralda yawned before confirming, "Mhmm. Aurélie Elise."

"Huh. Aurélie Elise de Chateaupers. Quite the mouthful, kiddo. Sorry for that last part. Blame my ancestors for that one." Phoebus rambled to Aurélie.

Several minutes went by without words or wailing. The new parents appreciated this to-be-rare moment of peace. Esmeralda settled into the sheets, rightfully fatigued, and soon fell into a deep sleep.

Phoebus tilted his head to look at the new mother and grinned, stroking her cheek a few times with the backs of his fingers.

Surely, they had no idea how to even step foot onto the road of parenthood, but they'd just have to wing it.

They were good at that.

Though he used to be remarkably resistant to marriage and children, Phoebus was now inconceivably enthusiastic to raise the daughter currently nestled against his chest.

The brief thought of a possible second baby—a few years down the road—didn't even startle him. (Well, it did a little. Not that'd he'd ever admit it.)

"Aurélie." He mumbled.

The new father smirked. "Much better than 'Phoebus', anyway."


End file.
